


Phenomenology

by TableNumbers



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Not Beta Read, Residuum, Warning: Trent Ikithon, in which the author feels lots of guilt and wants guilt-ridden characters to help with that guilt, recognizing the self through the Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24050929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TableNumbers/pseuds/TableNumbers
Summary: an angsty gunslinger and wizard sit down at a table, stop me if you have heard this joke before.remember how parlay worked between John and Merle in The Adventure Zone? its like that but two smart people working out some traumas.
Kudos: 95





	Phenomenology

**Author's Note:**

> hi ive never written for CR and I also haven't written fic in a long time. pls be gentle.
> 
> also hey i’ve never actually watched campaign one? but i read the entire wiki like 8 times so it’s fine.
> 
> pls leave comments if you would be so kind!

“I don’t suppose you know why we are here,” Percy flexes a fist, wishing for a weapon that was not there. 

“N-nein.” Returned the fellow in front, equally unarmed. Percy could tell he was in front of a kindred spirit, as both checked for weaponry before looking at the scenery around them. 

There was not much to be said about the location in the first place. They both sat at a long, sturdy table. Chairs were relatively comfortable given the circumstance. There were windows to the outside, but they granted no relief as the view was simply cloudy absence. Not so much as a setting, more so a lack of one.

The only object that leads to some interaction was a small and simple chessboard, equidistant from both parties. Percy regarded it for a long time.

“Do you know…” He did not finish his thought. Instead, he finally took in the opposite individual. Scruffy, with long red hair, and a look of fear in his eyes. Not newfound fear, Percy was not nearly threatening enough without his weaponry. No, it was a long-held fear. A life lived without comfort. Percy coughed. 

“Do you know how to play?” He meekly nodded toward the chessboard. The other regarded it, seemingly for the first time. He looked nervous at the poor attempt at conversation, but softly inclined his head in affirmation. 

Percy waited. And waited. 

Oh. 

“Would you like to? There is little else to do.” 

Once again Percy found himself practicing a certain amount of patience as he watched the other ponder his request for several long seconds. A mutual overthinker then. 

“Okay, ja.” He returned. 

Percy nodded, and reached up to move a piece. The man returned, and they began the slow dance of chess. A pawn, then another pawn and then-

“So, what is your name?”

“C-caleb,” The other responds, as if the name were punched out of him. “My name is Caleb.”

“Hello Caleb. My name is Percy.”

“Hello.” Not a talkative intellectual then. 

“Where are you from, Caleb?”

A pause. The other man’s hand stills on a piece, and Percy’s inability to make eye contact is rewarded with a remarkably interesting smattering of scars. A similar lifestyle indeed. 

“Blumenthal.”

Percy considers that answer for a moment. 

“So, you are not from where I am then. That is curious.” 

Caleb looks up at him. They make eye contact. 

“Where are you from?” Caleb asks, his accent thick. Or perhaps Percy was simply not accustomed to it, the language more swallowed then his own. 

“Whitestone.” 

Caleb nods as if he knows. Perhaps he does. 

They continue playing in relative silence. Percy watches as the other considers his movements, neither taking terribly risky maneuvers. Percy could tell that Caleb was not trying hard, but neither was he so there was little fault to be placed. Slowly, Caleb began itching at his scarred arms. 

“You are a man of adventure then? Or do you just get yourself into trouble?” Percy knew it was rather rude to comment on an obvious habit, but he also knew he wanted to get back to his wife. Some niceties would have to be set to the side in this strange, dream-like world. However, Percy was filled with immediate regret as the other flinched and put both hands down on the table in submission, like a child caught. 

“My apologies. I never realize when I am scratching at my arms, Not- my friend… friends always catch me.” He gives a dry, deflective chuckle. No smile on his face. 

“Oh no, the blame is on me. I am selfishly curious, I guess. I am just looking for reasons for us to be in this room together. Maybe answers will lead to our… departure? Release?” Percy considered this for a second. If they were trapped, then there is little that can be done. However, there does not appear to be a direct cause. Besides the chess game that Percy was losing now, with his obvious indifference at the result. Caleb goes stark white at the prospect. 

“No need to look so worried. I do believe a lack of motive indicates a release at some point. So, if that is the case,” and Percy places both hands on the table, mirroring Caleb’s, “I think we have something to consider here with your arms. How did you get those?”

Caleb immediately folds his arms but notices his lack of sleeves immediately. This is the first time Percy considers his outfit. Black pants and an undershirt. The same seems to go for his compatriot. 

“That is… not a story for a chess match.”

“Then we stop playing chess. I do not mean to push,” At this, Percy places his hands in front of him, the universal gesture of non-violence. “But I have a family I would like to return to, and I imagine you have people missing you too.” 

The other considers what he is saying, then nods. He lays his hands on the table, moving the forgotten chess game to the side. 

“Percy, correct? I do not know you. I hope after telling you this story I will never get the chance to.” Caleb smiles on one side of his mouth. Percy was familiar with the kind of smile it was. Not directed at him, he could tell. A secret to be shared with oneself, something private and self-loathsome. 

And thus, Caleb began the tale of his life. Without the chess game to occupy Percy’s hands, he took the king in front of him and fiddled with it as the other told his story of loss and a new world of redemption and friendship. It was a story of hatred, internal and external. Something Percy was rather accustomed to, as he was surrounded by the same sort of mythos and adventurers. Neither wishing to die nor particularly wishing to make it through some battles. 

“So, your arms? Was that the work of your former… captor? Trent?”

“Teacher.”

“Barely.”

Caleb gave an odd look at Percy, who did not back down. Caleb needed to know that he had an ally in Percy, even if he did not want it. 

“Ja, I guess you are correct. Technically,” his accent shifts for one second, and Percy notices a small, soft look of self-reflection cross over Caleb’s face. “A captor. And yes. He would cut and place crystals into the arms of Astrid, Eodwulf, and myself. He believed it would increase the arcane power available to us.”

The chessboard shifts material. A rather inconspicuous wood becoming a familiar green glass-like crystal. Percy looks in appreciation at the newly shifted Residuum king piece in his hand. Caleb’s face drops. 

It hits him like a punch in the stomach. 

“No.” A horror-filled realization. Percy looks at Caleb, who looks back at him. 

“You are familiar with this then, ja?” Caleb gives a look of mirth at the board. He picks up a piece, a knight, and slides a thumb over it. Regarding the physical properties. 

“I am.”

“How familiar?”

“We make it.”

Caleb looks at him, truly looks at him. The white hair, the interesting spectacles. Smudged with fingerprints and powder, black powder. He was older, ja. But in that moment, he looked so small. 

“I do not suppose you know the Solstryce Academy? It is in Rexxentrum, near where I am from.”

Caleb watches as the man blanches further, rather impressive considering his already pale face. 

“I… am aware, unfortunately. We stopped selling to Wildemount a long time ago, but apparently production did not end soon enough.”

Caleb knew guilt. He knew that the look on Percy’s face was as such. As nice as it would be to blame this stranger, it would also not be fair. 

“Ja, but Master Ikithon would have found it eventually. We are all kin; we know how us academics are when we must find something.”

Percy nodded as if on autopilot. Caleb watched the other thing for a few moments. 

“I forgive you.” Caleb's voice cracks on the words. Percy looks up from the king in his hands. Something shifts in his gut. He feels a warm feeling wash over his chest, understanding. 

“Yes… I suppose that is what I am looking for,” He looks at Caleb, directly in the eyes. At that moment, Percy knew this Caleb as well as he knew himself. 

“I forgive you, too. Your… crimes, I dare say you consider them as such, were not directed at me. I do not know what you have done to get this world-weary look in your eyes, but I forgive you.”

Caleb clears his throat. 

“My parents—”

“It does not matter, Caleb. Please understand. I wish to not know. To never know.”

Caleb looks at Percy, incredibly confused. Percy splays his hands out in front of him. 

“I do not need to know to forgive you, Caleb. This is not confession. There is nothing you can say to me that will make me remove my absolution.”

Caleb did not lose the look of confusion, but Percy did not expect him to. 

He replaces the king on the board. He looks at Caleb. 

“Your turn.”


End file.
